You are the thrush that sings in the morning, sweet with joy from the crown of the tree.
You are the laurel about my head, victory green and new.
You are the sun, faithful to smile the day into being.
You are the brook as it laughs around the corner, kissing the rocks till they sparkle.
You are the wild rose, pink and smooth against my cheek, delicate fragrance in my breath.
You are the beauty of the earth,
the dew of youth from the womb of the morning,
the hymn I raise to kiss in praise.
*photo credit: Denise Bowman